Winter afternoon, brew a cup of light tea, with warm sunshine, the courtyard of many deep, into the depths of time, stop, in the tree ring under the tree of the original, the life is long, long road, we've both changed. Have been reluctant to admit that he is a loving memory of people, until the stand in the vast crowd, watching the rush of people, watching the silent time The stream never stops flowing., just know, originally I have not a brave man, a lot of things, as the torrent drifting away, knowing the fleeting time well, years of total transformation, but unwilling to admit, do not want to touch.
At the moment, looking out of the window, to smell a fragrance that Enron, the heart note flying, the river of life played gentle ballads, was once illuminated; calm down, and then to sort out those fragmentary picture, in fact, we are growing every day, just away, no longer feel.
Someone once asked me, what the writing means to you, why has always insisted, I always just smiled, did not answer, I think, this may take a long time to answer. My dream in the text, where dreams, I then in where; perhaps, in the text I will be lost, perhaps, for a moment, every word was sad, but because of the text, my life more warm, but also because of the text, just let me know feel your heart, feel that a firm. It is like a long lines of golden light, will be my life light, boundless road, just no fear, no longer anxious.
Text sentimental, on the path of quiet, always want to find a friend understand my words, I have always believed, encounter is the edge, in the vast sea of humanity, can come together is happiness, but how many people can really hold that a better? Sometimes I think, if not met, if just a short moment rub shoulders, those, whether it will become a little smile? Perhaps, in this world there are too many helpless, too much thing, too much difficult.
Have so a person asked me: "what is love in the end?" I still did not answer, just say love in the text, because there are too many words in the past, we used to have too many stories, there are too many do not want to forget. Staring at the sight of the sound of flowing water in autumn, do not feel depression, years alternate, with the memory of this wind, drift into the depths of time, the ukiyo Qing Huan, years of stability, seek corner alone, listening to the rain, watching the flowers bloom. Perhaps, life in a hurry, everyone leave Dudu his intention, as Shi Tiesheng said, God would give people destined to end, and in this gentle dust, you leave, an outcome may also be doomed, so there should be no sad, it is in the past. But still the compassionate leave smile, leaving a red dawn time deep, distant fragrance.
If there are still some people who ask me, writing for me is, in the end what it means, I will tell you, is my dream in the text, also once I think waiting.
Thin cool autumn, how many fishes and sentimental, relies on the window to indulge, will that a delicate melodious music playing, "floating boat in the river, the neck dream as, under the eaves swallow", gently flowing, took me into the picturesque Jiangnan, comely landscape, and the everlasting affection, to and fro, never decline in half. Time is like quicksand, the wind does not see, perhaps now recall, has not only is missing, it is floating in the sea of people, walking in the street, is also rooted in the people heart.